


dance, little man, dance

by Hueyhuey



Series: big bad bright fireworks [2]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blind Character, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter loves his plants, as in Wade Wilson's fucked up body, teenage antics, wade wilson is a dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 03:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21403705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hueyhuey/pseuds/Hueyhuey
Summary: “Wade! Where the hell is he? I literally went dumpster diving for him and that bastard had the audacity to not show his face all night!”Peter is sprawled all over Wade’s grimy apartment floor, eyes closed and mask off. He’s tracing the patterns in the tile with his gloved fingers. He’s on his fifteenth minute of ranting about his conspicuous lack of Daredevil and he can feel Wade’s veil of patience fracturing with every word that leaves his mouth.(All Peter wants is to befriend his local devil. Just making his acquaintance would be nice. A friendly handshake would suffice. Even just an autograph. Wade's not exactly interested in facilitating these goals.)
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Peter Parker, Matt Murdock & Wade Wilson, Peter Parker & Plants, Peter Parker & Wade Wilson
Series: big bad bright fireworks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543033
Comments: 18
Kudos: 504





	dance, little man, dance

**Author's Note:**

> I do not like this but it's getting in the way of the rest of my ideas for this verse so here it is. It is the second installment after first impressions. Have it. Take it. I'm tired of it sitting in my docs and getting stale. The Peter in this is heavily informed by the various 90s comic runs of Spider-Man. He's a snarky little shit, but that's consistent with all renditions of the character. 
> 
> Some talk of Wade-related gore, but overall this fic is pretty mundane. Please do what you need to be safe.

Daredevil has disappeared. It’s been less than a week since Peter’s initial encounter with him and the guy has fucked all the way off the map. Peter cannot believe that all it took was one interaction with him to send the guy packing. He didn’t think it was possible to be that annoying. Then again, Daredevil’s chummy with Deadpool. His bullshit bar’s gotta be pretty damn low.

Tough titties, Double D. Peter’s gonna smoke you out of whatever hell hole you crawled into.

He’s been venturing further and further into Manhattan in increasingly desperate bids to unearth his newfound target, but every time he makes it to the boundary of Hell’s Kitchen, he finds some petty (or not so petty, if his bruised midriff has anything to say about it) crime in need of intervention which distracts him from his Devil-shaped goal.

By the time he finishes up, he’s forced to head home or else face the wrath of Aunt May, who is a self-proclaimed professional coddler and Spider-Man’s second biggest fan, bested by Ned only because of her own mounting blood pressure. Said blood pressure has been granted sentience and a name by Peter himself. He calls it the “Blood-Clotting Cock-Blocking Anti-Spidey Sense”. Only in his head, of course.

Peter hasn’t made it into Hell’s Kitchen more than a couple of times. He’s trying his damndest, though.

Tonight, Peter’s a man on a mission. Wade has returned to his home base and Peter made sure to extract express permission from May to stay at his place overnight after he finishes up, barring any bodily injuries. That means he can spend a long night in the Kitchen without having to worry about the trip across the river. Plus, if he doesn’t find his mark tonight, Peter can pester Wade about the guy some more. He’s wearing him thin. He can tell because Wade’s exasperated sighs have become more and more aggressive over the last couple of days.

He lands lightly on a tall roof just inside the boundary of Hell’s Kitchen, double and triple-checking his web-slingers before he begins his descent into the Devil’s territory. 

“Wade! Where the hell is he? I literally went dumpster diving for him and that bastard had the audacity to not show his face all night!”

Peter is sprawled all over Wade’s grimy apartment floor, eyes closed and mask off. He’s tracing the patterns in the tile with his gloved fingers. He’s on his fifteenth minute of ranting about his conspicuous lack of Daredevil and he can feel Wade’s veil of patience fracturing with every word that leaves his mouth. 

The Spidey Sense lets him know that Wade is about to inflict some sort of bodily harm upon him, and Peter cracks open his eyes just in time to see all 240 pounds of Wade’s massive form jump off of the couch directly above him. He falls as if in slow motion, and Peter has no time to react before he is crushed by a belly flop comprised of scar tissue and bone.

He cries out, squirming out from under Wade’s many limbs, and narrowly avoids death-by-tickle by jumping over the offending couch. Peter, quick thinker that he is, realizes belatedly that he can just web Wade’s hands to the floor. Having defeated the beast, he sits triumphantly on the center of Wade’s back and sighs dramatically. Wade growls underneath him. 

“Pete, I ain’t gonna fucking help you find him. Especially since you stuck me to the goddamn floor, what a dirty trick by the way, you slimy little bastard,” Wade says to his yellowing floor tiling. 

Peter hums, playing with the hem of Wade’s sweatshirt and considering his current predicament.

“Fine, I guess I’ll just have to find you every night I don’t track him down and bring you a plant and wax poetic about my Daredevil-related woes,” Peter muses as he sits up and detaches himself from Wade’s back. He makes sure to take a picture of Wade’s sorry ass as fodder for any future blackmail before disconnecting him from the floor.

As soon as Wade is free, he glares at Peter and adjusts his sweatshirt. 

“I’m gonna make you take them web shooters off before you step into this apartment. And I’ll shoot the fucking plants out of your hands.”

“Yeah, okay. As long as you get rid of whatever firepower you’re packing,” Peter replies, tactfully ignoring the dig about his plants.

“Fuck no, kid. Never know what crazy asshole might walk through that door and start shooting.”

Peter raises his eyebrows in response to that assertion, silently acknowledging Wade’s immortality. Wade at least has the decency to look sheepish. He turns to the kitchen and says, “Anyway, you’re not gonna find Mr. Law and Order for another couple of days at least. He’s probably off the streets for at least till the weekend with that leg.”

“Law and Order? The hell does that mean?”

Wade cringes, closing his eyes. He curses under his breath and opens them to glare directly into Peter’s soul. “Nothing, guy just has a moral code bigger’n my daddy issues.”

Petter is unconvinced and makes this known with a truly withering stare. “Wade, do you know Daredevil outside of the mask? Is he a lawyer?”

Wade refuses to grace Peter’s interrogation with a response and instead moves into the kitchen, where he busies himself with his coffee maker. Peter takes the opportunity to vault over the couch and onto the counter. He wiggles his eyebrows at Wade’s turned back.

“I’m right, aren’t I? Daredevil’s a fucking lawyer! That’s hilarious, oh my god.” Peter has to acknowledge the hypocrisy of a lawyer moonlighting as a vigilante. Wade’s right, the guy’s ethics have got to be scrambled all to hell. 

Wade’s broad shoulders hunch, and he turns around as his pot begins to fill with coffee. He directs a scarred finger at Peter’s chest, punctuating his point with jabs to his sternum at every other syllable: “If you figure it out, you didn’t hear jack shit from me. You hear this, child? I told you nothing. In fact, I’ve never talked to you. I’m going to cut out my vocal chords and live my next couple of days completely mute so I can’t be implicated.”

Peter laughs and retorts, “We both know it wouldn’t take you two whole days to grow a new set of vocal chords.”

“Wow! You missed the entire point of my whole spiel! Jesus fuck, kid. Go the hell to bed. It’s too late for someone as young and fragile as you to be havin’ caffeine.”

“First of all, fuck you for thinking I’d want to drink the gutter shit that thing cooks up,” Peter protests, gesturing to the struggling machine.

Wade shoos him off of the counter and crosses to the closet to dig out some bedding. Peter settles himself on the couch and watches him battle a pile of displaced fitted sheets. Wade emerges from his textile antagonizer a moment later to toss him a blanket. Peter settles into the couch and yawns. 

Before he falls asleep, he asks the ceiling, “Do you think Daredevil would kill me if I looked for him during the day?”

Wade appears in his field of vision, arms crossed over his band t-shirt and staring down at Peter’s impish grin. He leans in and whispers, “Devil don’t play during the day, and if I hear about you harassing any sorry ass Hell’s Kitchen lawyers, I’ll make taco meat out of you while you’re still in that dumbass suit. It’ll have little red and blue flecks in it and everything.”

He pats Peter’s head and strides off in the direction of his bedroom, stench of his foul coffee wafting after him.

Matt pauses in unwinding his wraps from his hands, smirking as he hears the footsteps enter his field of hearing. It’s the kid again, the one with the spider gimmick. He’s been all over the Kitchen since the night Matt got shot, and his appearances are made ever more futile by the fact that he is clearly searching for Daredevil. He’s actually helping Matt out, swinging around the neighborhood and knocking out low-level crime while Matt’s out of commision. Every interrupted mugging, prevented rape, and failed robbery is punctuated by the same question, delivered by the same aggravated tone: “Have you seen Daredevil?”

From what Matt has gathered on Spider-Man from his misadventures in Hell’s Kitchen, the guy truly has the best intentions. He’s got methods infinitely softer than Matt’s own, and he seems to stick to smaller criminals, helping the disenfranchised and disadvantaged. He doesn’t kill, and he doesn’t seem big on bloodshed or torture either. Matt would hedge his bets that it’s because of his age. He knows that Spider-Man hasn’t made much of a dent in the organized crime of Queens, either. He wonders how long that innocence will last. What it would take to dislodge it.

Matt listens as Spider-Man drops down onto a street lamp a couple of blocks away, right next to someone trying to get into a car he assumes is not theirs. He hears that strange ‘thwip’ of Spider-Man discharging his webs and the guy’s anguished cry as some extremity is stuck to the car. Spider-Man’s suit makes the humming sound that Matt has come to associate with the shifting of the lenses on his goggles.

As Matt slings his duffle bag over his shoulder and pauses at the grimy water fountain, he hears the creak of Spider-Man sitting down on the street lamp. The kid opens his mouth and proceeds to torture the poor trapped criminal with a truly impressive rendition of a recent interrogation regarding Daredevil. 

Matt tunes most of it out, but as he gets onto the sidewalk and turns toward his apartment, he listens back in.

“...fended him?! C’mon, Mister Car Thief, with this charming face? I bet I’m exactly his type. I just need to double check all the dumpsters again. Betcha he’s campin’ out in the trashiest alley he could find just to spite me... Hey, you know what annoys me the most about this whole thing? The damn trip from Queens! Takes me forever to get over here and I’ve got stuff to do over there too, ya know. Tons of low-life to stop. He could at least be considerate and show up to tell me to fuck off. Heard he does that a lot. Hey, you’re gonna break your wrist doing that. Anyone ever tell you not to dislocate your whole elbow tryna get outta chemically engineered indestructible webbing? Stop it, dumbass, the cops are almost here. I ain’t got time to babysit you, man.”

Matt has to suppress a laugh at the Spider-child’s rambling. He hears him take off from his perch on the street light and quickly realizes that the kid is headed in his direction. Matt makes an impulse decision to intersect his path, and sure enough, Spider-Man swings over him not two minutes later.

Matt expects the kid to continue on his trajectory toward Queens, but he must catch sight of Matt because his heart rate skips and the smell of adrenaline increases ever so slightly. He drops into an alley adjacent to Matt and fumbles. He asks an imaginary woman named Karen what time it is, and Matt is surprised when a synthetically affected voice responds, “It is 2:37 in the morning. Would you like to know the date as well?”

The kid huffs and says, “No, but thanks, Karen. Hey, would you happen to know what the proper etiquette for talking to a blind person is?”

Karen pulls up a list of websites as an answer to that one, and Matt continues walking from where he’s paused. He hadn’t realized it was so late. 

The sound of the spider-kid’s suit follows him from about thirty yards for another couple of blocks before Matt gets fed up and stops.

“I can hear you, man.”

“Really? How’d you do that, dude?! You’ve gotta have awesome hearing! Sorry for creeping, I was just. Uh. Wondering if you needed any help. Not because you’re blind! Well, I mean maybe a little because you’re blind but mostly because it’s like almost three am and I’ve got no leads on the guy I’m chasing and--what was I talking about? Oh! Yeah, do you need any help?”

Matt lets Spider-Man’s outburst hang in the air while he waits for the guy’s breathing to return to acceptable levels. Testing the waters, he says, “I don’t actually need help at the moment, no. May I ask to whom I’m speaking?”

There goes that jack-rabbit heart again. It’s drowning out the noise of everything within a 50 foot radius and Matt has to take a step back in surprise when Spider-Man rushes forward, apologizing profusely. He takes his hand and shakes it like he’s trying to loose the shoulder from its socket. Matt allows this to happen only because he’s intrigued to learn more about his stalker. 

The kid half yells, “I’m so sorry!” for the thousandth time before saying, “My name’s Spider-Man,” as if that’s a normal thing to call oneself.

Matt raises an eyebrow and asks, “Like the guy from Queens?”

Spider-Man vibrates, with anxiety or excitement Matt can’t tell. “Yeah! The one and only, at your service.” 

Matt suppresses his amusement and says, “Well, Spider-Man, if you have to know, I’m headed home from blowing off some steam at the gym.” Can’t hurt to give the kid a couple of hints. He can’t really imagine Spider-Man finding him out outside of the suit. 

Spider-Man brightens and says, “No shit? That’s awesome! Where do you work out? I can’t go to gyms anymore. All the weights are too light for me.”

Matt throws him a bone, letting himself smile at the kid’s obvious anxiety. “Let me guess: some sort of enhancement? Super strength? You got laser vision too? Are you as easily recognizable as Captain America outside the mask?”

Spider-Man goes quiet and stiff at that comment. Ooh, touchy subject. Duly noted. Will avoid in future interactions. It doesn’t take long for his mouth to start running again.

“Hey, why were you working out in the middle of the night?”

Matt thinks on his feet, just like all those piles of loans he acquired through law school taught him to do. He even throws in a little of his lawyer voice for added effect. “I don’t like to go when there are so many people around. You know, just easier without so many moving parts.” He gestures with his cane. 

“That actually makes a ton of sense. I’m real sorry I bothered you, man. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

Matt’s grin widens and he answers, “Matt.” He digs around for his wallet and extracts a business card before holding it out for the kid to take. “Here. My number’s on there, in case you’re ever in need of help in the Kitchen.”

Spider-Man takes the card and Matt hears the suit eyes squint as he tries to read it in the dark. “Matt Murdock. Nice alliteration! My--my friend’s name’s alliterative too. Hope you have a nice night, Mr. Murdock!”

Matt listens as the kid swings away from him and back by the place where he’d webbed the guy to the car, presumably to check if he’d been picked up by the cops. Once he’s satisfied, the kid turns around and swings towards his home in Queens. 

Matt keeps Spider-Man in his span of attention until he crosses the border of Hell’s Kitchen. He adjusts his grip on his cane, and then he’s off to catch a couple hours of sleep before court in the morning. 

Peter doesn’t manage to meet up with Wade until about five days after his interaction with the blind man. He’s finally been able to find time in his schedule to hit both Hell’s Kitchen and Queens in the same night. He has yet to come into contact with the Devil again, but word on the street is that the Man in the Mask was spotted busting up a chapter of the same drug ring that’s been the object of Peter’s attention for the past couple of days. 

He’s got a google doc going full of leads on Daredevil's whereabouts and inferences he’s made from his interactions with the biggest and baddest that Hell’s Kitchen has to offer. He plans on showing this to Wade and painstakingly detailing every individual bullet point.

The document is several pages long.

Some people would say that Peter is obsessive. He prefers the term dedicated. 

When he finally manages to hunt Wade down, the guy is laid flat on a rooftop, sniper in hand and eye pressed against the scope.

Which is pointed at none other than Frank Castle, who is a mirror image of Wade on a fire escape across the street.

Peter huffs in intrigue as he swings down to land on the small of Wade’s back. This movement startles the Punisher, who shoots the place where Wade’s head had been not a second before. The bullet ends up lodged in Deadpool’s shoulder and Peter hops off of his back as the man releases an indignant yelp. 

“Dude, why are you and the Punisher posturing at each other from a block away? Don’t you have anything better to do? Anyone to maim or murder?”

Wade narrows his suit eyes at him as he peels himself off of the roof and sits up. He takes his time formulating a response. Digs some gravel out of his bullet wound. Glances up at Peter and then back down at his ravaged left arm emphatically a couple of times. Gets up and stretches his back, loudly grinding what Peter can only imagine are a couple of vertebrae together. “Ain’t posturing, kiddo. Just a nice fun staring contest.”

“With guns?”

“You bet your ass with guns.”

Peter rolls his eyes, letting his chin tilt skyward as he considers Wade’s disregard for the sanctity of his own life. He decides to change the subject: “Guess what? I brought you a couple of gifts!”

Wade stops picking around in the bullet wound in his shoulder to stare at Peter. The mask moves as he purses his lips. “It’s more plants. Oh god, it’s more plants, isn’t it?” 

“Wow! You’re halfway there!” Peter exclaims, withdrawing a succulent bud from where he’d stashed it in his bag and placing it tenderly into Wade’s reluctant hands. “You’ve got two more tries to get the other half.”

Wade’s shoulders start to shake with mirth. Peter realizes the inevitability of this new plant’s death a second too late. Wade turns back to his perch. The Punisher is nearly finished packing up his artillery. His back is turned, but Wade doesn’t hesitate in overhanding the tiny plant across the space above the street. It bursts against the wall directly to the left of Frank. He jumps at the sudden introduction of soil into his personal space, turns around, and calls Wade a name Peter hasn’t even heard Wade use. 

Wade cackles, crunching his broken lower back as he plops down onto the rooftop to disassemble his own gun. Peter grimaces and says, “Dude, I know you know what I’m here about.”

“Sorry, Petey-Pie. I can’t help you find him. It’s your own job. ‘Sides, I got all these damn bones to fix thanks to you.”

Wow. Woooooow. Fuck you, old coot. Peter’s got this whole recon list made and everything. They haven’t even gotten to the script he’d made in his head.

“Sorry, baby boy. The guy doesn’t want to be found. Here’s an idea: Do some loud illegal shit smack in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“You think I haven’t tried that? I’ve been working on that for days, Wade. Days. I helped someone deal drugs! I stole a gun from someone and gave it to someone else. I sat in on a Dogs of Hell meeting and helped them strategize. Wade, you do not understand. They smell so bad and Daredevil didn’t even notice and I don’t want to do it again.”

“I don’t know what to tell ya, kid. This shit takes time. Keep working on the same shit as him in the same area and y’all are bound to run into each other at some point. And Peter?”

“Mm-hm.”

“You haven’t been fucking with any lawyers?”

Peter makes his suit eyes blink at Wade. Twice. “No, dude. I’m not that desperate.”

Wade extends a hand for Peter to grab to help him to his feet. As he watches Wade dust off his suit, he remembers the card buried in the bottom of his bag. He thinks he recalls seeing ‘attorney at law’ somewhere on there from his brief look at it in the semi-darkness. He adds, “Oh, I guess I ran into one the other night,” and then, before Deadpool can jump down his throat, “but it was unintentional! Completely by accident.”

“Why, Pete?”

“Dude, it was like ass in the morning and below freezing and the guy was alone and blind! I just asked him if he needed help and he said no and we talked. He gave me his card, too. Look, it’s got Braille on one side.”

Wade takes the offered card and stares at it, then flips it over. He hands it back and digs his fists into his temples. “Don’t fuck with that man, kid. He’s bad news.”

What the fuck?

“Why the hell do you care about this guy so much? What’d he ever do to you?”

“Calm down, Pete. Ju—“

“No! You don’t get to tell me to calm down. What in the fuck kind of beef could you possibly have with a blind attorney?”

Wade gets into his space, uses every millimeter of the foot of height he has on Peter to intimidate him. He pulls his mask up past his mouth and starts to speak.

Peter won’t have any of that shit. He reaches up to grab Wade’s shoulders and swings him down onto the gravel rooftop, knocking the wind out of the bigger man. “Don’t fucking tell me you’re being ableist. You don’t get to do that shit, man. You don’t get to be that way. The only thing you get to do is tell me exactly why you think that guy’s dangerous, or I’ll call him right now and ask him myself.”

Deadpool’s suit eyes widen and his uncovered lips twitch. He articulates his response slowly, mulling over every word before he verbalizes it. “Matt Murdock and I have run into each other on numerous occasions, inside and outside of the courtroom. He’s tough shit. Real righteous motherfucker. As you may imagine, our moral compasses don’t exactly align.”

Peter relaxes his grip on Wade and sits up. “None of that makes him dangerous, DP.”

“Does if you’re just trying to gank a mark and he comes along to fuck up your tenuous agreement with the justice system. Nearly served me ten life sentences for taking out the head of the Brooklyn branch of the Italian Mafia. Every interaction I’ve ever had with that entitled asshole has landed me in trouble.”

Sounds just like Peter’s kind of guy. 

“Kid, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t dig into him. He’s got a whole load a shit hiding behind those pretty red shades of his.”

That sounds like permission enough to Peter. He gets up, stretches, and cracks his knuckles. Responds, “Thanks, man. Sorry about your back.”

Onward and upward, motherfucker. There’s a blind guy running around loose in Hell’s Kitchen who’s just asking to get investigated. Peter’s got no time to lose.

“Peter--hold on! Wait!” 

Bye Wade, thanks for the intel. See you on the flip side.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticisms are so, so appreciated. Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
